Page 114 of The Do-Over

It was the worst time to smile, but I couldn’t help it because for once, those words held meaning, real meaning, to me. I was okay with me.

Her eyes flashed. “So, what am I supposed to do? Just stop caring? Stop worrying you’ll end up at my age and realize you have no idea who you are anymore? Just sit back and watch you make mistakes? I’ve tried to be a good mother,” she said with as much dignity as a woman in fuzzy slippers could muster.

“You are a good mother,” I said. “I hope to be half the mom you are. I never had to worry about anything as a kid. You fixed all my problems. But at some point, I started to feel like you were trying to fix me, too.”

“I wasn’t trying to fix you. I wanted you to be happy.” Her accent thickened with every word, and she suddenly looked exhausted. “When I was a kid, we had nothing, and it was hard. Mama, I know you did the best you could, but I was always that poor girl with the single mother. I wanted my children’s lives to be different.”

The door opened and Daddy stuck his head in. “Can I come in yet?”

“No,” all of us said at once. With a grumble, he shut the door.

“Then I went off to college and did the same thing. Got myself pregnant. So, yes, I wanted to do everything I could to make sure you had better opportunities. I sent you to good schools. I was involved. Always available. And it wasn’t enough, was it? I devoted my life to you girls and… and… now you hate me.” The tears that had gathered in her eyes began a quiet descent down her cheeks.

My gut clenched like someone had punched me. In that moment, I saw my mother so clearly. It was the fear of judgment that had driven her to change her hair and watch her weight, to strive for perfection, for herself, and for Phee and me. My heart broke a little for her.

“Mom,” I whispered and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Now, you aren’t quite right. You might have started down the same path as me, but you made better choices,” Mimi said. “Craig is a good man. And it hasn’t been all bad, has it? You’ve got a pretty good life—two beautiful daughters, a husband who loves you, a nice house, friends.”

Mom’s eyes shone under the yellowish hospital lights. “It has been good. I just worry it’s not enough.”

“It’s not enough for who? Or are you worried that you’re not enough?” Mimi asked.

“I don’t know, Mama, I just don’t know.”

“You are, honey. You are enough.” Mimi smoothed the back of her hand over Mom’s cheek. “Now, I’m probably always gonna embarrass you some. That’s just how I’m made. You make some decisions I don’t agree with, but that’s okay. You are you and I am me, but it doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

“But you have to butt out,” Phee said. “I almost married a weaselly, arrogant lying liar because I was worried about your feelings.”

“You can’t be the one to decide who or what makes us happy. We get to decide that,” I said.

“You’re right,” Mom said, her voice a little shaky.

I sat back on the edge of Mimi’s bed. None of us said a word, lost in our thoughts, examining the words we’d spoken until the nurse bustled in with her rolling cart.

“Time to take your vitals, Ms. Perkins. How’s that heartburn doing now?”

“Heartburn?” My mother repeated. “Mama!”

FORTY-FIVE

“The bigger the leap, the higher you might soar.

But if you fall, it’s really gonna hurt.”

—MIMI

The week after Thanksgiving, I went into work as usual. I sat at my desk. I listened to Marianna complain about the traffic. I turned on my computer and checked my email. I met with clients. I greeted Brent and ate lunch with Daddy and listened to Miss Ruby bellow down the hallway.

But the whole time, I thought about the letter in my desk drawer. I’d written it last week, printed it, and hidden it there. Waiting.

Now it was time.

Letter in hand, I marched down the hallway and past Miss Ruby.

“What are you smiling about?” she demanded.

“Nothing. It’s a good day. That’s all,” I said, pausing at her desk. “One more week until retirement?”